


The Unbearable Lightness of Being

by wordsofhoney



Category: Dota (Video Games) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Johan "N0tail" Sundstein, TI8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsofhoney/pseuds/wordsofhoney
Relationships: Sébastien "Ceb" Debs/Johan "N0tail" Sundstein
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Unbearable Lightness of Being

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Невыносимая Лёгкость Бытия](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463574) by [wordsofhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsofhoney/pseuds/wordsofhoney). 

Notail is a good guy, really. It’s just that nowadays all his kindness is buried underneath a layer of shit that got piled up on top during the past few months. Now Johan is more like an old bristly dog who is calm while nobody’s touching him, but is ready to rip the throat out of anyone who dares to come too close.

Only Séb is not afraid, still sticking around, looking at him with big devoted eyes. He would have wagged his tail like a dog too, if he had one.

Johan loves dogs, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation.

He wants to give in and fall face first into this hole so bad. Sébastien is utterly incapable of doing things half-arsed, and for some reason Johan is sure that this includes the bed, too. Deep inside, he knows he just needs to say a word, and he will be surrounded with love, care, and affection — everything he so desperately misses now, despite all the feigned joy.

He’s just not sure he will be able to give anything in return, when his heart was scooped out with a metal spoon first by Anja, and then by Gustav and Tal.

He’s not bottomless too, after all. It’s easy to fool the public, broad smiles and silly faces honed over the years of doing media, coming out without even thinking, and that’s all you need, really.

Can’t fool your close ones with this.

But still, every time when he looks into those loving eyes behind the glasses he wants to grab Séb by the collar and drag him to a nearest corner to see for himself, whether the French are as good at kissing as people say.

So they keep dancing around each other, a month, another, game after game, map after map. They win against EG, and when Johan feels like he’s about to puke right on the main stage, Séb is right there, putting a hand on his shoulder, patting him on the head, and the cold hand around his stomach unclenches and his lips spread into a smile.

Maybe, thinks Johan, something can come out of this.

* * *

They win TI, claw their way to victory by sheer will and stubbornness. Now adrenaline is gone, and Johan can’t sleep, has been laying on the bed for a bloody hour already, staring at the ceiling.

Fuck this shit.

Séb’s room isn’t far, a couple of metres down the hall. Johan is sure he’s not sleeping either, tossing and turning on his bed. Or maybe writing. He almost never updates his blog these days, but Johan knows he’s still keeping a diary, has seen him writing something into a battered notebook a couple of times.

Johan thinks about Séb, settled in the corner of his bed and writing something with lightning speed as if afraid his thoughts will outrun him, and smiles.

Séb opens the door almost immediately — so he hasn’t been asleep indeed, — and his eyes widen when he sees Johan on the doorstep.

— Couldn’t sleep, — Johan’s voice is nonchalant, — Thought maybe you’re not sleeping either.

Séb opens his mouth to say something, but Johan does what he’s been thinking about for the past months: grabs him by the collar and pulls him into a kiss. Séb exhales in surprise, and Johan uses the moment to push him into the room and shut the door behind them with his leg.

Séb’s soft lips are made for kisses, tender tongue touches and careful bites. Johan unzips his hoodie without breaking the kiss, lets it fall down, and slides his hand underneath Séb’s t-shirt. Séb sighs, a hoarse sound born somewhere deep inside his throat, and Johan thinks he can do anything right now, Séb will allow everything and will ask for more.

Would be nice to fuck him real good. And then hold him close and kiss to death in a silent _thanks_ for everything.

Johan slides his hand into dark hair and shoves Séb into the chest, pushing him against the wall. He feels frantically beating heart underneath his fingers, strong and _alive_. His fingers involuntarily clutch at the soft fabric, as if they want to rip it out, not to stomp on it like it has been done to his, but to hide it somewhere safe, some place only Johan would know about.

Séb exhales shakily when Johan moves lower to kiss on his neck, and tries to back away.

— Johan… 

Johan stops and looks up. Séb is always beautiful, rounded features and chiseled fingers, and right now he’s looking absolutely sinful, tousled hair, swollen lips, and eyes almost black in arousal. He looks as if he wants to say something but can’t find the words, but Johan understands.

Too fast, too sudden, should we even, we’re on a same team, we’ve just won, it’s the adrenaline, are you sure? Are you?

Johan has been through this himself, and here he is.

Johan looks Séb in the eye, grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls, revelling in the way Séb stops breathing. He slides other hand underneath Séb’s t-shirt, runs fingers across his stomach, barely touching the soft skin, making the muscles clench.

— Look at me, Séb, — Johan’s voice is barely a whisper, low and husky, — Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t what you want, what you wanted for months, more than to win, more than to lift this fucking Aegis. Tell me, and I’ll stop. Mmm?

Johan’s fingers gently stroke the low of Sébastien’s stomach, and he’s barely breathing. Johan can see the silent struggle in the brown eyes, and waits silently for Sébastien to make up his mind and take a step into the abyss. He thinks he sees the last strand tear, the last wall crumble, and then Séb closes his eyes with a barely audible _“Fuck”_. 

Johan smirks, and drops to his knees, pulling Séb’s soft trousers down in a one smooth movement. Séb is hard already, and there is a drop of pre-cum glistening on the exposed head. The sight alone makes Johan’s mouth water. He licks his lips and looks up from underneath the eyelashes with a small smile, knowing full well that he looks absolutely obscene now.

Séb doesn’t even say anything, just looks down at him, mouth slightly agape. Johan leans in and gently touches the head with his tongue, watching Séb throw his head back in a silent moan.

Johan doesn’t even remember when he’s done this last time. Things were easier then, what happened at a bootcamp — stayed at the bootcamp; but he knows he’s good, has heard it enough of times to believe in it himself.

He falls into familiar rhythm, stroke the head with his tongue, swallow the shaft to the end, squeeze his throat when pulling back, repeat. Séb moans softly, and starts moving hips in time with Johan’s head. The cock rubs on Johan’s throat, and he feels tears well up in his eyes, but he doesn’t care, on the contrary. Johan is hard himself, and an accidental thought about long fingers wrapping around his cock almost sends him over the edge right there.

Séb whispers his name, and Johan feels dick in his mouth grow harder. Séb comes with a soft sob, and Johan obediently drinks everything to the last drop, to the last sigh.

He gets up from his knees, wants to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but Sébastien is quicker, pulling Johan to himself by the waist and kissing him, licking at the salt on his lips. Johan closes his eyes, and thinks about the first truly warm ray of spring sunshine that falls on his face. He answers the kiss, and feels a stone fall down his chest, and for the first time in months he can really breathe.


End file.
